All being well, we get the keys to our house tomorrow. I am so ready. Not in the sense of having everything packed, but definitely in the sense of 'let's just do this!'. My weekends are going to be spent DIY-ing and IKEA-tripping for the foreseeable future and I'm actually okay with it. I've got such a clear vision for our new house in my head, and I can't wait to get started on making it happen. Please remind me of this when I'm knee-deep in sanding skirting boards and complaining about it on Twitter. It will be worth it. Oh, will it be worth it.
I am sad to leave our little flat, though. It was our first proper home together. It's where Tuna joined our lives (for better, or worse...). It holds many happy memories (and some not so happy ones, but thankfully far less of those). It will be weird for someone else to live in our flat. I'm not quite so ready for that part. Call me sentimental, because I definitely am.
I'm also not ready for not having a kitchen and for the inevitable stress and drama of dealing with builders. Why do they never answer their phones? That is my question for you, right now. I'm also worried that Tuna will hate me even more for making her live in a house filled with noise and dust and building work. (Or more specifically, in one room of said house where nothing is going on).
I worry a lot. Don't we all? I'm not sure Paul does. Yesterday I started to tell him that I was worried about what we were going to do for Christmas, and how we were going to fit everyone in without spending our entire time on the motorway like last year, and he sort of laughed at me. Not in a mean way, just in a 'haven't you got enough going on right now, what with this house we're buying' sort of way. He's right, of course, but I've never been able to live in the moment. I worry just as much about hypothetical situations in the future as I do about stuff that's happening to me right now - which is silly, because there's no way of knowing what will happen and some of the stuff I stress about is *so* far in the future that there's really nothing I can do to help right now. Those things are old lady Amy's problems.
It's not all doom and gloom, of course (see: getting the keys to our house). As always, I am feeling so grateful for all of the lovely people and things I have around me. I had a day off on Monday, and I just spent it baking, knitting and watching Girls. Which is a pretty excellent way to spend a day, if you ask me. I've been trying to knit a baby blanket for all of our friends who have babies, but I can't keep up - they just keep popping them out (and I am a slow knitter). It's truly a thing of joy, of course - so many lovely little people coming into the world. I'm really happy with the one I am currently making, with a lovely soft mustard-coloured wool. It's the best thing to do whilst watching TV - I can't just sit still and not do something, and this is far more productive than scrolling endlessly on my phone.
All this to say, things are pretty much the same as always. Things are moving forwards, but aren't they always?